


Black As He Is Painted

by lycanus1



Category: Alexander (2004)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attraction, Cleitus feels, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Major character death - Freeform, Minor Violence, Platonic Cuddling, Regret, Sexual Slavery, compassion - Freeform, fear and anger, hate to respect/admiration, unlikely saviour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 22:38:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6060736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lycanus1/pseuds/lycanus1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cassander grinned spitefully then leaned closer to taunt me. "By the time the Black One's finished with you, girl, you will have regretted denying me your body. Remember that ..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black As He Is Painted

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: Everything you recognize belongs to Oliver Stone & Warner Bros. Pictures; anything else comes from my warped imagination. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> A/N: If Cleitus comes over as slightly o.o.c., it's only 'cause I want to show the battle-weary, gravely misunderstood man behind the brave warrior instead of his usual portrayal as a badass hothead.

_I can't believe he's gone ..._

Out of all of Alexander's commanders, he was the one everyone believed to be invincible. A soldier of the old school, one of the "old guard" Macedonians; a veteran who'd fought with distinction, under Philip's command in numerous campaigns. His reputation as a brave, formidable warrior who knew no fear, preceded him throughout the empire and his name alone was enough to inspire dread and trepidation in our enemies. The son of Dropidas, he was a loyal friend and comrade to Philip and close to his son, Alexander, being the brother to Lanice, the king's nurse.

His name was Cleitus and he was infamously, or better known as Cleitus The Black ...

Some say, unsurprizingly considering his fearsome reputation, that he was not borne of man nor woman but was a direct descendant of Ares himself. A comparison naturally drawn because of his brutality and cruelty in battle and, like that bloodthirsty deity, he also favoured the spear as a weapon. He was not only feared and respected by the enemy, but also by his kinsmen, for he was quick tempered and a proud, highly intelligent man who did not suffer fools gladly. Black Cleitus was also a cold, hard, heartless bastard and didn't care who knew it.

The ones who knew him well were not blind to his faults, yet they all said the same about him. That he would often be consumed by fits of darkness and melancholy and possessed a barbed tongue and a quick, sarcastic wit. But there were two things they all agreed upon ... that Cleitus the Black was truly loyal to the ones he cared for and to his beliefs and that he would fight to the death for both. Many had died at his hands and the only mercy he'd deign to show them would be for death to claim them swiftly. Despite this, countless lives had also been spared due to his experience on the battlefield and the fact that he was a highly skilled tactician.

Yet all the experience, wisdom, intelligence and skill which he possessed in abundance, hadn't been enough to save him from his fate ...

**XXXXX**

I only met him once, but the impression he left will stay with me until I draw my last breath ...

My name is Talia. I'm seventeen and an orphan of mixed race, the product of rape. My mother, an Egyptian slave, passed over to join Osiris at Amenthes, shortly after my birth; my so-called "father" I never had the dubious honour of knowing - all I know of him was that he was a drunken Macedonian soldier who'd assaulted my mother violently and left her for dead ... I don't look Greek: I have the dark hair and complexion of my mother's race, but my eyes are silver. A strange contrast to my colouring.

My short life has been far from easy. It's been hard and unforgiving and I truly believe that it'll never change. Being an orphan, I've never known love or experienced what it feels like to love and be loved. To care for and to have someone care for me ...  
  
Born of a slave, I live the life of a slave and I'm fated to die as one. I've no control over my life, no say in what happens to me - as far as my master, Arcas, is concerned I'm nothing more than chattel, a mere commodity. I'm fully aware and intelligent enough to know that I only live by his good will alone and because of the way I look. I'm a valuable asset; one which earns him a good living, for my master is a brothel owner and my body is his to do with as he pleases and sees fit.

So, because it pleased Arcas, that's how I and four other girls found ourselves herded like lambs to the proverbial slaughter into the Macedonian generals tent that evening. We'd been bought, simply as goods, to serve and entertain Alexander's men. Of the five of us, I couldn't help noting that I was the youngest and the least experienced and I was unable to shake the feeling that it wouldn't bode well for me ...

Situated in the middle of the tent was a large table laden with food and wine. Four men were seated at it, whilst a fifth seat remained empty. All of them were eminent in their field in the Macedonian army and their reputations preceeded them.

At the head of the table sat handsome Hephaestion, Alexander's best friend and sometimes lover; next to him the shrewd and wise Ptolemy and the tall, level-headed giant Crateros, who's imposing appearance belied his kindly nature. Finally, at the opposite end of the table, partaking freely of the wine, sat the youngest of the men - the one I'd hoped would not be there. Cassander. Although an attractive man, he was arrogant, uncouth and outspoken. He was also vindictive and possessed a sadistic streak. Not only had I heard tales of his cruelty towards some of the girls who had the misfortune to be chosen by him as a bedmate, I'd also been witness and had tended to their bruises. I could barely suppress the shudder of revulsion which coursed through me as his insolent gaze roamed freely over my slender, yet curvaceous body.

I tried desperately to catch Crateros' eye. Having heard from the other women of his gentleness and his sensitivity, out of the four men present, he was the one I wouldn't object to sharing his bedroll. Unfortunately, I failed to attract his attention and I cursed softly. By then, Ptolemy had also made his choice and had also left for his own quarters. Which only left Hephaestion and Cassander ...

Hephaestion must have sensed my unease and began to weave his way towards me, his mild, blue gaze holding mine, giving me hope of respite from Cassander. I'd heard tell that Alexander's lover was a good and kindly man and that he was much loved and held in great esteem. I held my breath and began to pray fervently to Isis that I would be delivered safely into this man's care.

But it wasn't to be. As Hephaestion was about to claim me, a large hand clamped firmly around my slender wrist and I was dragged roughly until I collided with Cassander's hard, unyielding body. Instinct overtook common sense and I immediately tensed, my eyes widening in both fear and outrage. Hephaestion had noted my reaction with concern, then with a slight, sad, regretful smile shrugged his broad shoulders in graceful defeat. He then made his choice and retreated from the tent with his companion.

Which left both myself and my friend Mya, alone with Cassander. He turned to glare at her with hard, cold, grey eyes, and I saw her tremble beneath its intensity.

"Leave us," he spat. When she remained frozen to the spot, he hissed, " _Now !_ "

A distressed Mya briefly met my gaze, her green eyes fearful, before fleeing the tent in a flurry of irridescently coloured silks.

Now I was truly alone. Alone with a man I despised more than anything and one that genuinely scared me. Frightened me so badly, which in turn made me inexplicably angry. As soon as Mya left, I began to struggle violently. He struck me viciously in attempt to subdue me; the gold ring which he wore on the index finger of his right hand caught me on the left cheek and broke the skin. Gasping, I raised a hand to my cheek and was incensed to find it bleeding. That's when I resisted in earnest. One thing I'm not is stupid. Arcas was going to be furious when he saw my bloody and bruised face and aware of his increasing fondness for Mya, I was going to use this to my advantage. If there was anything in my master's favour, it was the fact that he would not tolerate another man violently abusing his property. He would make Cassander sorely regret striking me - and Mya would also make certain of it.

He stood close behind me, far too close and left me in no doubt about how badly he wanted me. I knew then that I'd be taken aggressively and painfully and that he would only think of slaking his own lust. I winced as his sharp teeth sank into my neck and felt humiliated when his hand grazed over my flat abdomen, across the diaphanous scrap of material - which Arcas referred to as 'a gown' - that barely covered my soft curves. The hand suddenly slipped between my thighs, cupping me possessively and I was unable to prevent the sudden gasp of anger which escaped from my lips. I felt violated by his touch and revolted by the smug laughter as his other hand painfully squeezed my breast. That's when I decided I'd had enough, that I too would play dirty ...

I felt his hand grasp my raven hair tightly, tugging my head back so that I was forced to meet his cold gaze.

"I _will_ enjoy taming you, girl .." he hissed before claiming my lips in a brutal kiss and I fought desperately against the rising bile in my throat before allowing my body to slump limply in his arms. Cassander raised his head and laughed, thinking he had broken my spirit. At that exact moment I chose to retaliate. Without warning, I quickly raised my head and caught him squarely and viciously in the face. The sudden impact was enough to secure my release and I was quick to take advantage of it. Hearing his angry bellow of pain, I darted swiftly towards the opening of the tent.

Unfortunately, I was so intent on fleeing that I wasn't paying full attention to my escape route. I immediately collided with a tall, powerful, granite-like presence that stood directly between myself and freedom. A pair of strong, sinewy, golden arms snaked around my slender waist and prevented me from falling into an ungainly heap on the floor . I froze for an instant then, somehow, found the courage to look up.

As soon as I was aware of the identity of the man who held me, I felt the colour drain from my face and was struck mute by sheer terror and awe. Terror because of his notorious reputation and awe of the man's dark, god-like beauty.

"B-Black Cleitus ..." was all I could say once I was finally able to speak. Quickly, I realized my predicament had become far graver in a matter of moments. If I'd thought things had been bad before with Cassander, I was in far greater trouble now ... I saw the younger Greek approach us. His movements were unsteady and far from graceful and I couldn't help the brief, fleeting sense of satisfaction as he wiped his bloody nose with the back of his hand.

"I believe you have something of mine, Cleitus," he slurred. " _We_ have unfinished business ..." If he thought that I was going to cower in fear beneath the vicious glare he sent my way, he had another thing coming. I had a far greater threat to worry about ... As I attempted to free myself from the sable-haired warrior's grasp, Cassander reached out to grab my badly bruised wrist.

"Keep your filthy paws off me," I spat furiously, adrenaline coursed through my veins and made my slender body tremble. "Touch me again, spawn of Hades and I _will_ kill you !"

The older general tightened his grip around me as he heard the pure loathing in my husky voice. I watched Cassander warily. Instinct told me that this proud, arrogant man didn't take kindly to humiliation and rejection. He would make me pay for my actions ... pay dearly ...

Before Cassander could respond, Black Cleitus spoke, "Forget about her, Cassander. This one needs a man to tame her - _not_ a boy ..." And before either of us could protest, I found myself thrown across a broad, golden shoulder.

Oblivious to the slight Cleitus had dealt him, Cassander grinned spitefully then leaned closer to taunt me. "By the time the Black One's finished with you, girl, you will have regretted denying me your body. Remember that ..." And with that ominous remark, he stalked towards a pair of Minoan girls who'd just entered the tent.

**XXXXX**

Cleitus swiftly left the generals' communal tent for his own personal quarters, before Cassander had any second thoughts or objections. Despite my futile struggling, he strode purposefully through the compound, ignoring the laughter and the crude, drunken remarks made by his men. Once inside the spartan tent, I was gently dropped onto a pallet thickly covered with various luxurious furs. Still hell-bent on escaping at the first available opportunity, I also noticed that the pallet happened to be the one furthest from the enterance. Something which made me even more aware of the fact that this man clearly was no fool.

Warily, I watched him remove his black, woollen cloak and toss it across the back of a wooden chair and I silently inched forward. He must have sensed my sudden movement as he slowly turned his head to calmly regard me over a powerful shoulder.

"I wouldn't think about it, if I were you, girl ..." the quiet warning made me realize that he was well aware of my intention to flee. "You're safer here with me, than you would be out there ..."

I couldn't prevent my eyes from widening in disbelief nor was I quick enough to conceal the uncertainty I felt. "You truly expect me to believe that ?" I replied huskily, bowing my head to hide the anxiety which I knew he would not miss in my eyes. "I think not ..."

Cleitus simply shrugged his broad shoulders lazily and tilted his head to one side in contemplation. "'Tis the truth. Cassander will not easily forgive or forget how you slighted him. Believe me, he'll make you pay for it - unless you're careful ..." He paused briefly and I was acutely aware of his fathomless, highly intelligent, dark gaze upon me. "You will stay here 'til the morrow, or at least until Cassander sobers up. By then it will be safe for you to leave, little one."

His statement threw me into a turmoil of panic and confusion, my head snapped up sharply to look at him. "S-Stay here ? With you ? Until d-daybreak ?" He merely nodded calmly.

Fear - no, genuine terror - began to consume me. I'd heard all the rumours and the tales which flew around the camp about him. Most were true and didn't portray him in a good light. There was a good reason why he was known among the men as Black Cleitus or Cleitus the Black and it had nothing to do with his colouring and all to do with his feral nature ... Earlier, I'd accused Cassander of being 'the spawn of Hades,' now here I was - alone - with the living embodiment of that dark, terrifying deity.

I watched him walk away, his silent, graceful motion reminding me of a sleek, powerful predator. Despite my growing hysteria, his sheer beauty took my breath away.

He was a tall, lean, yet muscular man, not conventionally handsome but striking with his golden skin and glossy, jet black, shoulder-length mane of hair and neatly trimmed beard. No, his was a face of character, of rugged manliness with its broken nose, full sensuous lips and flashing, hypnotic, obsidian eyes - and even though I was in complete awe of the man, I couldn't help being attracted to him ...

On closer scrutiny, he appeared tired. Dark shadows circled his arresting eyes and his impressive shoulders gradually slumped with fatigue. Wearily, the general began to pour two goblets of red wine and to my astonishment, gravely offered me one. I eyed both him and the vessel with silent suspicion. He sipped the wine appreciatively, then contemplatively, met my gaze head on over the rim of his goblet. A slight smile played on his lips before he finally spoke.

"Your name ?"

I looked at him blankly as I uncertainly cradled the finely engraved goblet with both hands. "M-My name ?"

Cleitus nodded slowly and sighed gently, before running a tired hand through his thick, sable hair, "What do they call you ? I can't keep calling you 'girl' ..."

"Oh ..."

By now, I was totally confused. No man had ever wished to know my name before. All they'd wanted was a warm body to use and lie with. For the first time in my short life I was baffled. Bewildered by the most charismatic, mysterious and sinfully attractive man I'd ever met. I was at a loss how to reply.

"T-Talia ..." I croaked when I eventually found my tongue. His dark eyes swept leisurely over my body in appraisal, absorbing my sleek lines and curves. When it finally reached my face, I trembled beneath its intensity. His face darkened momentarily with anger as he sensed my fear. He abruptly finished his wine and went to pour himself some more. He swiftly drained the goblet's contents then hurled it into the furthest, darkest corner of the tent before turning his back toward me.

"Get some rest," he growled tersely, "it will be morning soon enough."

Shocked by this unexpected turn of events, I froze then somehow found the courage to cautiously approach him. I tentatively rested my hand on his left upper arm and felt the taut muscles flex beneath my palm. I was all too aware of his strength and vitality as it coursed through his powerful physique, like tempered steel cloaked by warm silk. Despite my original fear, I realized that I owed him a great debt and my free hand fell to the girdle at my waist. With trembling fingers I unfastened it, then I slowly pushed the lilac gown's straps from my shoulders, down my toned arms before nervously raising my eyes to look at him.

Although, his stern, handsome countenance was impassive, I was taken aback by the flicker of heated desire in the icy depths of his jet-coloured eyes. He leisurely closed the gap between us, again reminding me of a large feline stalking its prey with silent intent. What he did next took me by complete surprize.

With great care, he slowly drew the gown's straps back up my arms until they rested upon my slim shoulders once more.

"Cover yourself," he said gruffly as he gently ran the knuckle of his index finger across my cheek. He frowned as he studied my bruises, then reluctantly allowed his hand to fall away before moving to a small table at the side of the pallet. On it was a clay ewer filled with water and a clean, white, linen cloth. He dipped the cloth into the water then returned to me.

He carefully tilted my chin towards the torchlight, and with a surprizingly light, yet firm hold began to gently wash the blood from my face. I felt my breath hitch and wide-eyed I couldn't tear myself away from his searching gaze. My heart began to race madly and I nervously ran the tip of my tongue over my lower lip.

"I swear I never brought you here for that, little one," he stated huskily as he continued to swab the cut on my cheek, staining the crisp, white linen a deep crimson. "I only did it to spite Cassander. Seeing him deprived of his 'amusement' pleased me. Besides, you've suffered enough for one evening. Believe me, he wouldn't have left you with a bruised cheek. He _was_ intent on breaking you ... crushing your spirit ..."

He paused once more and seemed lost in thought, then with a heavy sigh, he gently swept my dark hair away from my face.

"I'm tired, little one. Tired and lonely ... I never thought there would come a day that I'd be weary of battle and bloodshed. I'm the most experienced general here; I've successfully fought in all the major battles and campaigns under both Philip and Alexander. Time and time again, I've never swerved in my loyalty to them. I've fought for Greece like a true Macedonian and would've given up my life, willingly, for her. Philip knew and understood that. He valued me as a warrior and a friend. But Alexander ?" He sadly shook his head. " _He_ has no respect for me. The fact that I've saved his life is of no consequence to him. My judgement is ignored and my opinions are no longer valued and he follows the advice of men who have little or no experience of war ... A rabid dog is shown _and_ given more trust ..."

Even though he spoke softly, he could barely contain the anger in his voice or conceal the hurt pride from his face and it was this rare glimpse of vulnerability that gave me a better understanding of him. This dark enigma stood unguarded before me, weary, lonely and above all, clearly misunderstood. That's when I finally realized I had nothing to fear from him. I took a deep and calming breath, then reached for his hand and gently laced my fingers with his.

"Earlier, when I said I only took you to thwart Cassander, I only told you a half-truth," he confessed quietly. "I brought you here because I sought company, Talia. I craved it ... I needed to feel another person's warmth. To have someone to talk with, who would listen to me ... Be willing to lie with and just hold me ... I'm far too weary for anything else, if truth be told ..."

Another thing I've had to learn over the years is how to know when someone's lying to me. I've developed a sixth sense when it comes to liars and it didn't fail me now. I began to slowly walk backwards, leading him to the fur-covered pallet. My eyes never left his as I sat down and, to his astonishment, softly replied, "I-I'm willing to do that."

He tossed the bloodied linen cloth back onto the table and with another faint smile, sank down on the pallet beside me, his hooded gaze did not leave my face. I fell back onto the furs and he stretched out beside me, his long, lean, sinewy frame dwarfing mine. Sighing, I inched towards him and draped my arm loosely around his waist. He suddenly rolled onto his back and gently drew me into his embrace. My arm still remained around him, my head rested on his broad chest and I felt his hand idly stroke my raven hair. The rhythmic caresses were strangely comforting and I found myself completely at ease in his arms. So much so, that my eyes slowly closed and I fell asleep.

The following morning, I awoke alone. It had been the best night's sleep I'd ever experienced and he hadn't lied to me. I _had_ been safe with him ... safer than I'd ever been in my entire life. I'd felt protected ... cared for ... It had been the closest I'd ever felt to being loved ...

**XXXXX**

We never spoke again. I never got the opportunity to thank him. For showing mercy to a stranger ... For showing me how to trust ... For caring ...

A week later he was dead. Slain by Alexander's own hand. I hadn't known him, but I'd come to respect and care for him. I grieved deeply for the brave enigma that had been known as Cleitus, son of Dropidas. The infamous general, who loved his homeland above all else and struck fear into the hearts of all of Greece's enemies.

I lamented that I'd never see him again and felt an immense sorrow for an embittered, disillusioned, battle-hardened, weary man who also, unknown to others, possessed a vulnerable side. A side he kept well hidden. One I alone had been privileged to see. A lonely, tormented soul who _was_ capable of great empathy, sensitivity and gentleness.

_I mourned the loss of a man_ I _truly knew was not as black as he is painted ..._

**FINIS**

 


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